Logs:Bathing Buddies
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| RL Date: 13 January, 2014 |
| Who: Alida, G'laer, Ilicaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: G'laer happens upon Alida in the bathes. It's exciting. Verbally. |
| Where: Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 10, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aseana/Mentions, Ghena/Mentions, Laghnei/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr Omnipresent clouds of steam slink across the tops of three naturally warm pools, set into the floor of this kidney-shaped cavern. Near the entrance the ceiling is high and polished, gleaming with little mineral specks as it sweeps downward into increasingly ragged, uneven steps. The foremost of the pools is squared off with wide steps leading down into the water and has faucets for bringing in cooler water from a rain-catching cistern. Primarily used for laundry, there's an almost constant film of suds along its surface until the circulating current clears it at the end of the day. Four sinks line the nearest wall and various tubs stored beneath allow for the washing of delicates. Laundry bags can be dropped off in the bins near the door and clean, folded laundry is stacked in rows of tall cubbies for easy pickup. The bend in the cavern leads to a rougher-hewn part of the chamber where the two circular bathing pools welcome those in need of a wash. Towels and washcloths are kept in neat stacks on shelves along the wall, along with sacks of sweetsand and a few bars of precious soap. Stone benches provide a place for sitting to remove shoes and clothing, while a row of gleaming brass hooks stand above, ready to hold clothes and robes.
Blonde-haired blueriders aren't the only ones in need of a bath tonight. With the month's focus being firmly on flaming, weyrlings are daily visitors (if not twice daily for some of the more particular ones) to help scrub off the scent of char, flame, and ash. G'laer's visibly dirty when he enters and doesn't waste time with modesty as he strips down by the cubbies, tossing into one his fresh change of clothes and a bag. Along with his clothes comes of the bandage covering a diagonal swatch of his left forearm, revealing the few days old superficial burn that's further evidence of weyrling exploits. He's likely unaware of Alida's presence in the pool he slides into, and as ever, his business here quickly leads him to snagging up soapsand. There's almost always people circulating in and out of the baths, and so when the sounds of another person entering reach her ears, Alida merely notes such silently. For some long seconds as G'laer moves around, so does she - but in a more subdued fashion - the woman pinning her long, wet, clean hair up upon head, then moving on to body scrubbing. It's only as the sounds and feeling of entering her pool and displacing the water come that the bluie truly does more than glance up...and finally notices a particular weyrling and his new boo-boo out just beyond her. After a few moments for thought, the full rider murmurs in a voice pitched so softly it'd only carry to the other side of the pool, "Sure I don't scare the shit outta' ya', greenie? I do that, y'know." A faint and derisive snork is heard upon humid air - the comment upon her own words magnified some by moisture-laden air - and is quickly followed by a protesting creel. "Sorry, toots..." the woman murmurs to something nearby, a relieved little croon soon enough following. "Call me 'greenie' again and I'll show you what scary looks like," G'laer must recognize the voice. Surely he wouldn't answer so impertinently to just anyone. But he doesn't look until after he's made his oh-so-even response. Then, with his eyes on her, "I heard you've been making some trouble." Well, not recently, but recently-ish. "Making it a habit?" His eyes slide away to attend to the careful cleansing of that injured arm. He's not overly gentle, but he's careful enough not to make it worse than it started. "Gotta' bug up yer bottom? I call lots'a people their dragon's color, greener." Nothing like rubbing a little alcohol into a wound just to see the reaction. Still, Alida sounds somewhat humored about her needling, the blonde managing to remain so even when she's confronted on her 'bad' behavior of the recent past. "Anyone who doesn't get inta' trouble at one time 'r another is doin' it all wrong. Lends legitimacy, experience." She ignores G'laer's words of being habitually problematic, and eyes him back...more his owie, really, soon murmuring, "Who's accident?" Unspoken: caused by his own actions, or Teisyth's. "Some would argue that's my perpetual problem." Bugs. If there's humor there, it's beyond difficult to discern. "Greenrider is fine, Gal, G'laer. The rest," He shakes his head. "You can call lots of people their dragon's color, but if you expect an answer from me, you'll do otherwise." And if not? Shrug. No skin off his back, it seems, though plenty of that with its various scars is visible now, with him only in waist deep. "You won't find judgments from me." In order to judge her recent behavior, he'd have to care. And this is G'laer. Carefully, he douses the wound, but avoids submerging. "We're having trouble with flaming. Doesn't come to her." Not even 'doesn't come easily', just 'doesn't come.' A smirk, then a twist of lips greets first his jocularity, then G'laer's return to seriousness, Alida simply continuing to bathe herself while Pyrite putters, rows through the water about her while playing with soapsand bubbles. Alida's own shoulders bear some scarring here and there, and after noting the weyrling's own signs of harsh 'use,' green eyes return to her own ablutions. In quiet comment, tinged with some continued dark humor, "'Cause judgement require one to give a shit." Beat. "Still, 's good." Word of Teisyth's lack of skill with flaming have a brow arching up a bit, followed by her alto, "Good thing this is an Interval. Still, tis' a nice ability ta' have in one's pocket, in case uv' need... 'r danger." Or for 'motivational' purposes. "True." G'laer agrees of the judgments and caring before he switches to using the injured arm's hand to distribute soapsand across his chest. "Not sure it being an Interval much matters. It's a skill she must have. If we can't sort it, we'll be weyrlings until Quinlys quits because she's sick of us." Which could be a very long time. "We're working on it. Despite setbacks." His arm certainly is one, but plural implies there's been others. "Aside from what rumor tells was a nasty flight, are you and Ilicaeth well?" Maybe he does care! Or maybe this is just G'laer being polite. "Even if she's never decent at it, I figure that with a lifemate like you, she'll still pick it up, sooner or later. Likely gotta' drill with it more 'n the rest uv' us, though..." the bluie comments factually, then moving around to turn her back to G'laer before she gets to her feet and starts washing her own torso. Holder. It does let him occasionally glimpse the somewhat-diagonal scar down her back, however, as well as a myriad of smaller ones. From the width of that longer, first one, a chap like him - in the know about such things - might deduce it's from a whip. "Yeah...pretty much," is commented back only a bit tightly as she slowly, gently scrubs her more tender bits, the woman then suddenly jerking her head ceiling-ward and narrowing her eyes for a few moments. "Fuckin' dipshit..." is murmured under her breath, 'lida then rolling her eyes only to herself and then inquiring, "Enjoyin' yer weyr? Gotta be better than bein' racked in with a buncha' kids." « Hey! When's Teisyth gonna rise?! » This is 'spoken' in lighthearted, curious fashion... which doesn't mesh at all with Ilicaeth's usual mannerisms, though it does with the vision of his golden sands showing glimpses of Alida and G'laer destroying the guest weyr in the Flight-inspired throes of passion. Wakka-wakka! (Ilicaeth to Alida) "She'll have to get decent at it. Meet the standard. She's a dragon, after all." And dragons are expected to be able to do dragon-things, as far as he's concerned anyway, or so the tone implies. "We'll keep practicing." That's added but perhaps only to allay any concerns that G'laer might be putting it all on his dragon, which isn't the case. He might be too involved in his own cleansing ritual to notice when she turns away, though glances go her way now and again, none of it's frequent enough to constitute ogling. He's got no follow up to her answer about their well-being but the sound of splashing as he starts to rinse. "The weyr suits me, so I'd say enjoying is as apt a word as any. Teisyth's always got visitors by though, so it's not as much privacy as I might like." But at least, presumably, those are largely visitors of a draconic nature. "S.O.P..." the blonde comments of G'laer's first words through her bathing, Alida then quieting to concentrate more, and listen to the greenie's following words. "Which one didja' pick? They always leave the dregs t' the weyrlings, uv' course." As for Teisyth, "Tell 'er ta' grow up some, 'n visit them. I'm lucky, I guess... Ilicaeth's pretty independent." Like his rider. She too is starting the 'rinse cycle' soon enough, and the cascading, splashing waters all around her are enough to trigger off a certain gold firelizard's playful urge, Pyrite taking to the air and whizzing in and out of the flying water, when possible...especially when her owner flicks it at her. Out-of-the-blue: "You always been like this?" "One of the ones with planters on the ledge and a bunch of shelves inside." There's more than one weyr this could describe, but Teisyth likes to lounge in the sunshine, so it's not unlikely that with that and any observance they might've made, Alida would know which was his. "Haven't finished moving in yet. Have to get the rest of my things from Crom once we start betweening." Which shouldn't be too far in their future now. "I think she just likes to play host. She goes visiting herself, too, but-" He shrugs as he goes for more soapsand. "Grow up in a two room weyr shared by parents and five sisters, you get to liking your privacy once you get it." He has more than five sisters, of course, but the rest didn't come along until later. "Preferred the barracks to the weyr in that way. Leastways in a barracks I had my own bed." "Ah..." Alida grunts softly, finally turning to scrubbing her back, though she's careful around the whip scar. "Always respect fer Between..." the blonde comments low, rather seriously after G'laer mentions the upcoming weyrling lessons on that critical subject. "Well... at least it sounds like she's branching out some..." is commented of Teisyth in Alida's typical, mile-a second way, then quieting to listen to the man's words of his youth, privacy...and looking a little confused in the process. After some moments of washing, rinsing, the woman mutters, "If ya' don't wanna answer, just tell me so." And now it's G'laer's turn to look-- well, no, G'laer almost never looks confused even when he is, but his brow does wrinkle just slightly and blue eyes move from some point in space to the bluerider as works on soaping up his back with as much difficulty as might be expected. "Thought I did answer. If I'd always been that way about liking my privacy." For Alida, the question may have been out of the blue, but for G'laer the natural assumption was that it was tied to the current topic. "If that's not what you meant," His brows furrow just a touch more, "Then like what?" "Oh..." is noted in disjointed fashion to G'laer when he speaks again, Alida finally putting one and one together correctly. "I meant... you. Have you always been the way ya' are now: yer personality." It's clipped, fast, almost casual, even though she's stiffened up a little. That's a question as deep as 'which came first, the wherry or the egg?' It has G'laer's brow folding in earnest now as he gives the question thought. Obviously, he's not taking it lightly as it takes some long moments of silent consideration before he offers any kind of response. "Like you have always been you, I've always been me." He starts, "But that isn't to say that each of us isn't shaped by the experiences that teach us and make us grow, change, and adapt." Now she's speaking to the philosopher, "So the way I am now isn't the way I've always been, but I've always been me." None of this is terribly 'solid,' all more in the realm of mental exploration. So he offers after another brief pause, "I've always liked books, for example. But which books draw me has changed over time. I didn't always like gardening, but I found a love of it and can't imagine not doing it now." So those are some examples of growth. "Is that what you meant?" That he asks speaks to his attempt to satisfy her query. The look of slight vexation on her features might show that he's still not hit the target, but, of course, Alida's features are hidden, since her back is still to him. The bluie remains silent, however, as G'laer speaks of himself in a slightly different fashion, and her head actually bobs a few times when he notes his interest in gardening, books. After some moments, she finds herself actually smile-smirking a little to herself, and finally murmuring, "It ain't important. Not now, anyway." Sigh, splash, and finally she sits again, though still with her submerged back to him to continue to scrub. "Yer so... almost..." What's the word, Alida? Thiiink. "My mom did her best ta' expand my vocabulary when she could, but she didn't have much time." Shrug, eyeroll. "Ah! Clinical." G'laer isn't one to call a canine anything but, so after the bluerider has spoken, there's a moment and then, "So when you asked if my personality has always been like this, what you really wanted to know was if I've always been such an emotionally mute bastard?" Which is better than saying cold-hearted. "Clinical is a good word to describe me," he admits. "But I do feel." She listens to him without a word, without comment, and even after G'laer quiets, Alida's still silent. Some rinsing occurs in that time, and finally, slowly the woman turns around, sitting up to her clavicle in heated waters as green eyes look directly into blues. Softly, seriously comes the rejoinder of, "I know you feel. I've seen it." A small headshake almost sends her piled hair slipping off skull, and quick hands jerk up out of the water to rescue it, repin the wet stuff again as she once more speaks. "Those 'r your words, not mine." Shrug. "Figure yer wife likely called ya that enough." Another shrug, and the bluerider's looking out into the mists for her disappeared flit, while commenting, "Now I understand why a person like me..." smirk "...cultivates a flat aspect: it keeps my temper under locks." A look back to him is addended by, "What about you, though?" "Aseana never had cause." It's not spoken in defense of the woman, simply a matter-of-fact correction. "Now, perhaps. But only because now she knows the man everyone else does. The boy she knew..." G'laer's eyes find the water but only as he searches for the right words; he never likes to speak without them, "The boy she knew was as much as any maid could wish for, until he wasn't." Blue eyes flick back up to meet greens, "In every life there are experiences that shape a person. Mine have shaped me hard. And I've never had a need to be soft." As a guard, one wouldn't. Hardness is an asset in that life. She raises one brow some at that first admission of his, but Alida doesn't comment further about that subject, especially since G'laer's speaking about himself more, and in some detail. Finally, once he's quieted, "Life shaped me hard, too. But I was expected ta be soft... be a female." For a moment, it looks as though the blonde might cringe inward on herself, but a sudden fanning of inner flames causes the phoenix to rise within and without...in the proud lift of a chin and the flash of witch-green eyes. "I am how I am." Which, often enough, is rather mixed-up. And then the ire at past misdeeds drains out of her in a rush, leaving the bluie with slightly downcast eyes, thoughtful and wary demeanor. "I understand... mostly." There are instant fields of rich grains, abundant greens beneath her feet, warm and fertile soil between Alida's toes... the scent of life and affirmation buoying her up, the sun above warm and welcoming. No words are needed: she's perfect as she is, and she's his, he hers. As they should be. (Ilicaeth to Alida) G'laer listens; it's one of the things he does best. His eyes, as ever, have an intensity that would unnerve some, watching her eyes, her face as she speaks, taking in every expression and every infinitesimal shift. "I have a theory that it takes turns and perhaps even whole lifetimes to truly understand another person. That while there are certainly common experiences, it's nigh impossible to get far enough outside one's own experience to fit well enough into another's shoes to truly be able to say one understands. I prefer to say I have an appreciation for what a person is saying." Beat. "I have an appreciation for what you're saying. Women are often expected to be soft, even when they take on jobs that require the opposite. There weren't many around me that were female, but I remember one who suffered for the contradiction. It wasn't easy for her. I imagine it wasn't for you either." But he's not asking her to confirm or deny. "So if whether or not I feel wasn't it, what is it you meant by if I've always been like this?" Even if she's said it doesn't matter right now anyway; apparently, it matters to G'laer. That this guard is apparently also a philosopher (at least in her eyes) is reason for Alida to lift her eyes again and study him in mixed fashion: partially the way he is looking at her, and partially like a wide-eyed kid. Notice the little hint of a secretive, but strangely open and sweet smile upon her mouth? Nah, it was likely a figment of imagination. All she can do is very slightly bob her head in tandem with his words of suffering - a gift for him - then finally let her breath out in a whoosh...a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding. She too is thinking deeply, something many have accused her of not being capable of when it doesn't come to the 'job.' After some moments, quietly, "Able ta hold up the... the mask so well. So well that is just becomes a part uv you...until ya' kinda' get lost, in a way, inside." G'laer is silent and still, eyes on hers. Then, with utter seriousness, two words fall from his lips: "What mask?" It isn't that he doesn't understand. He's giving her an answer. Another slow breath is let out, Alida finally letting her chin fall towards chest, her head slowly shaking from side to side as she now smiles with thin and razor-edged understanding. Darkly. Finally, she looks back up to G'laer, and the usual, cool cucumber of a woman is found on her features, in her eyes. "How you are now... is how you are always. Even in private." "I've as much variation as anyone else, but what you see is what you get." G'laer answers, his hands upturned and spreading in front of him to illustrate subtly what she sees: a man with scars, whose body is as hard as the rest of him. "Like anyone, I have a temper. Like anyone, I can cry." Probably doesn't, but is physically capable. "Like anyone, I can smile. I can love. But-" And now he mimics her words, though with his own inflection and his own weight to them, "I am how I am." "So..." Alida replies about a devil-may-care little smirk-smile upon her lips, "... what I got from ya' when I took you hunting was a treasure. One blurt uv' laughter." One hand raises to her forehead, and rubs there for a moment, obscuring her features before it drops again. It's difficult to tell if she's being sarcastic, honest, humored when the bluerider answers greenie again, "Thank fer the moment." Pause, smirk. "Tell me when I'm gettin' close ta' rating 'buddy' on yer internal scale, 'cause I sure as fuck can't tell." Outside, in the Bowl, lounging Ilicaeth lets out a weird little sound perhaps reminiscent of a human squeak of laughter. A single brow arches and his chin tilts down and a little to the side G'laer can deliver a look. "Let's not get crazy here. Laughter wasn't on the list." Even though it doesn't particularly sound like it, there must be humor in these words. "That might be a bit difficult." He says of the 'buddy rating.' "I don't have a 'buddy' rating." Then, "What kind of things would you expect of our relation to one another if you were rated such?" "Ah, but it was there..." the woman quips dryly in return of that former humor of his, then propping her head into one hand again for a moment. Muttered out mostly to herself: "I do not believe I'm doin' this..." Sigh. Back up and out to G'laer is murmured in near-list-like fashion, "Respect, but not crazy amounts. We share our personal shit if we really feel like it, and don't if we don't... and we do not have a problem with it. We do things ta'gether, but we respect each others' privacy and need ta be alone 'r with others. We do shit only guards would do when we feel like it. We c'n call each other out on honestly shitty behavior, but we tolerate more 'n what we would from others." Pause, stare. "Any others I think uv'll be left on yer ledge in a rolled up hide." Cue an eyeroll of massive proportions. "Much as I might like to make the claim at times, I'm not a mind-reader," G'laer answers the comment that wasn't to him. Then he listens with his usual intensity. "If that's all, then you can consider us such, if you like." There's a beat, "Though, given my propensity for not feeling like bringing up my personal business, from that description it sounds like I've got a lot of buddies I was previously unaware of. Well, 'a lot' might be stretching it." But some. He shifts and submerges all but that injured arm, tipping his head back far enough to wet his hair. "You c'n read Teisyth's mind..." Alida clarifies, then stares again at G'laer. After some moments, "That's only the basics... and I can't believe I listed 'em off to ya'." Siiiigh. She's a little frustrated and touchy - since the woman's let down some of her guard (a-ha-ha) in front of him - and so when she again speaks, it's with some obvious testiness, and scrunched brows. "Just what the shell does it take ta be your fucking friend?" Glare. "She's a woman. Do you think being able to read her mind helps any?" G'laer stares right back. "Better you list them off than me not know, isn't it?" Then, as he soaps up his hair, "Depends on how you define friend. If it's as you've just listed, then whatever's happened so far suffices, clearly. If what you really mean is what does it take for me to start waving my personal business about in your presence, that's another question entirely." One which he answers, as it happens, "I've known Taikrin for twelve turns. There are still many things we only speak of in generalities." And there's more a moment later, "I am how I am." It's repetition from earlier, "It means you have to ask, and specifically, when you want to know something. It means you have to make lists of what you expect of me or I'm sure to disappoint you in my ignorance." But at least he seems to be speaking openly and honestly. So that's something. "What the... is that sexist shit spilling from your lips?!" Alida notes with some growl, as if daring G'laer to say 'yes.' Again with the glaring! When he continues on their original topic, the irate-in-waiting blonde finally grumbles, "So, is what yer trying ta say is that you don't have any friends? And never have? What the fuck is your own description of friendship?" "How is it sexist to confess I don't understand women?" G'laer counters evenly, the growl not baiting him. "Fact of life that I understand men better than women. I've met one girl in my life that hasn't spun me 'round and made me too confused to find the dragon to pin the tail to. And she's my sister." Obviously not the one he Impressed with. As for the other matter, he dunks first, keeping the injured arm out once more, scrubbing through his hair, then surfaces and wipes the water from his face. "Friendship, for me, is about ease and acceptance. Taikrin is my friend not because we prattle to one another about what our squishy little hearts are doing, but because I'm at ease when I'm with her. There's acceptance without expectation. That I am how I am is fine by her, and she doesn't expect me to be more." Not that they've ever said as much in words and maybe from Taikrin's position, they're not friends, maybe her definition of friendship is different. "We'll be friends, Alida, when you stop wishing I was other than as I am. If you ask me of my feelings, I'll tell you. But it's just not my way to volunteer such things most of the time." Exceptions to every rule. He shifts over toward the ledge, not nearing the bluerider but staking his own claim. He's cleaned the top half of himself, so... "The exact words you used were pretty suspect in my ears..." Alida grumbles out, and then abandons the subject. And then she's caught between listening, being pissed-off, and almost laughing at one point when G'laer continues about friendship, the woman finally calming herself enough for some moments so she can inquire, "I don't wish you were anything. You're the most confusing male I've ever met, let me tell you. I've fucking never had ta talk like this ta any other guy I was ever pals with." If her hair wasn't up on her head, she might pull it out, at this point. "What the fuck ever..." the blonde finally gusts out with a frustrated blast of breath, then quickly turning away so the weyrling can scrub his privates in private. Sort-of, anyway. To herself: "I fucking give." Eyeroll. More rapid scrubbing takes place, and likely while G'laer's still in the process of the same, she's quickly hauling her pinkened ass out, and slapping a thick, dry towel around herself. For the moment, G'laer chooses not to protest. He does, however, calmly suggest, "Maybe you wouldn't have to talk like this with me if you weren't over-thinking things. You were the one that asked me if we were friends because you couldn't tell. You want us to be friends? Start acting like we are. See what happens. How many of your other pals have you had to say 'are we friends?' to before you just start being friends?" She might be concerned with his privates staying so, but he's weyrbred and guard-trained. Clean is clean no matter who's watching. But at least he's quick about his business. His eyes flick briefly to her before he's rinsing, but because she moved and exited the pool, and the gaze doesn't linger. "I'm only over-thinkin' because you are a fucking mindbender..." the woman blurts out, though still low, so her works won't carry too far. They're intense, though. Alida's testy about this topic, likely because, "People like me don't make friends easily 'r often." It's much too dangerous, emotionally. So, she should start acting like they're friends, then? From the cubby she stored her own, clean clothes in is suddenly hurled - out of the sluggish mists - one, then two heavily-damp loofah sponges. They're pretty accurate, and if G'laer doesn't see them well enough to dodge them, both will strike him: one in the noggin', one in the chest. Grumbled out from her cubby, "Happy now?" Asshole. She'd only hurl loofahs at friends, apparently. Into her clothes she goes after drying off rapidly. Dodging in slippery places is reserved for things that pose actual threats. Loofah sponges aren't so scary. They both hit with success, rebounding harmlessly and into the water. "Is that a trick question?" He calls back in answer. Maybe he's kidding, but this is G'laer, so he's just as likely to be serious. She is asking him if he's happy, after all. He's out of the pool then after plucking the loofahs up to bring with him. He stops to collect a towel from the nearby offerings and at least has the decency to wrap it around his waist as he heads for the lockers. "What are you, a mindhealer?!" Alida spouts at the greenrider when he inquires like that, a scathing look passed to him. Twit! Her hair is unpinned and swiftly twirled up into a towel, the blonde then tucking some vial of creme into one of her pockets. To mister towlie over there is grumbled in irritation, "Drinks in the evenin', three days from now...Snowasis." Jerk. Then off she storms towards the exit, not even bothering to look back or really wait for an answer. |
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